


Skillet on the Stove

by eggshellseas



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Father/Son Incest, M/M, Quasi-incest, Team John did the best he could, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-19
Updated: 2015-07-19
Packaged: 2018-04-10 01:15:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4371527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eggshellseas/pseuds/eggshellseas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean tries to compartmentalize; John tries his hand at compromising.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Skillet on the Stove

**Author's Note:**

> Written and posted to lj in 2009 (has it really been that long?). Set pre-series, during the Stanford years.

The first time it happens it’s the summer after Dean turns 21. He buys a handle of vodka at a liquor store across the street from the motel they’re holed up in and gets drunk – drunk enough that he can be brave in going out and finding a particular bar he’d seen an ad for in the local newsletter. He’d been flipping through it while he and Sam and Dad were eating slightly soggy eggs and toast at a place called the Courtesy Diner a few days ago when the ad had caught his eye. He’d pretended to be smirking at the sex advice column above it and then had tucked the folded up newsletter into the back of his jeans when they left.

Dean almost chickens out eight times on the way and three more once he’s through the door, but he knocks back an extra shot for luck and then picks his target (the man’s got sandy-blond hair, some lines creasing his face, and heavy work boots), and ambles over.

All that Dutch courage fails him and Dean can’t seem to formulate a single sentence. The man smiles, though, and his eyes wander all over Dean’s body. Dean tilts his chin up defiantly at being given the up and down like this, but it still makes something in his stomach tighten. There’s only a few words exchanged; they’re not really necessary when looks are obviously conveying intent. The man closes his tab and leads Dean out back by the dumpsters (“A little privacy,” he says). The alley is narrow and it smells a little, but Dean rests his forehead on his arm against the brick wall of the bar and doesn’t think about it.

He lets the man call him “boy” and “baby,” and doesn’t know how to do anything but whine and jerk back gracelessly into the hard thrusts. It hurts some, but it’s mostly good and over quick anyways. Dean holds on tightly to the man’s leather jacket with one hand and brings himself off with his other.

Afterward, the man discards the used condom on the ground and Dean stares at it for a moment before he hitches his jeans back up. He takes the man’s number before he leaves, but throws it away as soon as he’s sure he’s out of sight. Dean goes home sticky and a little sore and feeling like the world has changed around him.

It scratches some unnameable itch and plus, Dean’s not stupid, not when it counts; he knows there are times and towns where he can’t get away with stunts like that. He’s more than content with one night stands with women for a while, even occasionally something that lasts a little longer, but he’s watching his dad more carefully than ever all the while, letting himself see all the things he never allowed himself to linger on before – the bob of John’s throat when he swallows, the shift of muscles in his back, the breadth and strength of his hands while he’s cleaning the guns. It’s not like Dean expects anything to happen, just that he’d woken up one morning years ago with sticky sheets and realized who he’d been dreaming about. He’s got to do something about the lust and since he hadn’t succeeded in ridding himself of it, he’s taken up pursuing a policy of containment.

*

Then, before Dean knows it, Sam is gone and his family is broken. His dad, of course, doesn’t want to talk about it, just goes on like things are normal. They’re not though, and the job gets harder, but Dean’s become a better soldier for all his watching because he knows his dad as well as anyone can know John Winchester. They don’t talk as much anymore, but they’re always breathing the same air and sharing the same space and they haven’t got anything but each other. It’s all tangled up in Dean’s chest because he’s happy to be this close to Dad, but he misses Sammy something fierce and it’s getting more difficult every day to ignore the effect his dad has on him.

The second time it happens (just 600 miles and 1 state away from his first), Dean’s lucky enough to find a guy who looks like he could be John’s brother, or cousin at least. His dad has left him alone to do a routine salt-and-burn while he’d gone off to follow up on a lead about a stretch of haunted interstate further down south. Dean quickly gets bored and agitated waiting for word from John and it seems like the perfect pocket of time to steal a little special relief for himself.

Dean drives to the nearest city, passes at least a dozen honky-tonk bars where he knows he could find a girl for an easy lay, but instead he cruises until he finds the gay neighborhood.

After parking, Dean picks an establishment that looks a little seedy, goes in, takes stock of the clientele and then goes to the bar for a drink when he finds it satisfactory. He can feel all the eyes on him and he knows there’s power in this, in people wanting him. There’s the thrill of danger there, too, because sex, this kind especially has to be seized where there’s an opportunity and because Dean knows that his dad would likely tan his hide if he knew what Dean was up to.

Dean had to skip town without saying goodbye to his first girlfriend. He asked his dad as they were loading up the car if they could swing by her house just so he could say something, and John had looked at him as if Dean’s head had twisted around and he’d started speaking in tongues.

His first boyfriend (not that they ever even got the chance to really do anything other than trade shoplifted rum and coke flavored kisses one Indian summer) was lucky to escape with only a broken leg and dislocated shoulder when he followed Dean and his dad to some old abandoned jailhouse in the middle of the night, thinking Dean was mixed up in something bad – drugs or prostitution or maybe just cheating on him.

Dean learned early that there was no room in his life for anyone but Dad and Sam, but he can still have this.

He’s so on his game he doesn’t even have to approach the guy, reels him in with just a look. He likes the low, lulling cadence of the man’s voice, likes the scratches on his knuckles, likes that the guy’s willing to pay for Dean’s drinks. The man, Roy, has a motel room just a few blocks away and Dean walks him there, the air just cold enough to see their breath.

“What’s a boy like you doing picking up geezers like me?” Roy asks after he’s kissed Dean’s mouth near-numb, friendly curiosity in his voice.

“Complaining?” Deans retorts, letting some arrogance slip into his smirk as he strips his shirt off.

“Definitely not, smart-ass,” Roy chuckles, an appreciative look in his eyes that’s about more than what Dean’s body can do in a fight and that’s enough for Dean to get on his hands and knees on the bed and give it up to this stranger with an achingly familiar quality about him.

Dean stays facing the headboard, gripping it tightly with both hands. There’s warm breath on the back of his neck, a beard rubbing his skin red where Roy’s chin keeps grazing his shoulder. It’s too much like what Dean wants and it makes him feel selfish and slutty, makes him come harder than maybe he ever has in his life when Roy finally curls a callused palm around Dean’s cock.

Roy tells him he’s in town for another week and Dean keeps the guy’s number, but his dad calls him the next day from Humble, Texas, needing Dean’s help with his case and Dean drives 12 hours with only stops for gas and plenty of coffee to get there and Roy is so far from his mind that he might as well have never existed.

“‘Bout time,” John gruffs when Dean stumbles out of the Impala.

Dean’s feeling bleary and still freshly fucked and he wants to give his dad a hug, he’s just so glad to see him, but he settles for bumping their shoulders together when he walks up to John because he and his dad don’t much go for that girly stuff.

John leans against the hood of the truck and tells Dean about the stretch of road just north that’s haunted by more ghosts than John’s ever seen in one place. Seems that a Confederate-era cemetery was dug up to build it and John hasn’t figured out where the graves were moved.

The town’s pretty much shut down, not that Dean figures it was ever much to begin with. There’s a two-screen cinema, a church, and a putt-putt course that all closed because of the hauntings, John tells him.

“So it’s turned into a - ”

“Don’t say it,” John interrupts, something twitching at the corners of his mouth that Dean only knows is a smile because he’s spent his entire life learning to read his dad.

“Ghost town,” Dean finishes anyway, just because he knows the corniness will make his dad groan and snort back a laugh.

John gets back in his truck and leads Dean to his motel. In the tiny, dimly lit room John’s got a map of the area pinned up on the wall, blotches of black ink where he’s scribbled over areas that have been ruled out. He hands Dean a scrap of paper with a name written on it and tells Dean to go one town over to the Pine Crest Retirement Community to talk to this guy, the town’s oldest living resident.

It’s something Sam would be better at, though Dean has enough sense of self-preservation not to say so, just does what Dad asks.

The man, Mr. Eaves, is more than willing to talk. The cemetery, he says, is nestled deep in the woods behind the abandoned church. He draws Dean a shaky little picture on a paper napkin and tells Dean about how when he was young, kids used to dare each other to go sit on the headstones in the middle of the night. Dean is a little sorry to leave so quickly. Eaves seemed so happy to have some company, but his dad is waiting.

Wrapping up the job isn’t hard, really, just tedious having to salt and burn so many remains. It takes hours, all through the night, with almost no words exchanged except to occasionally request that the water bottle be tossed over. They’re both filthy by the time they’re finished and Dean’s definitely feeling the burn in his shoulders and back from wielding a shovel.

Back at the motel, John rather magnanimously offers Dean the first shower. Dean figures his dad’s got some things he needs to get down in his notebook so he doesn’t argue, just hops in and tries to scrub all the dirt and grime off his skin. He tries to tell himself he’s not going to do it, but he ends up jerking off anyway – quick as he can be about it, thinking about his dad’s hands, about how they’d be even dryer and rougher than usual, dirt under all his fingernails. He thinks about those fingers digging into his hip while his dad’s teeth mark his neck and Dean comes, half-afraid and half-hoping that his dad will somehow hear his quiet groan.

“There better be some hot water left,” John says when Dean’s done.

Dean smiles and flicks some water at his dad. “Cold’s good for your skin,” he says.

“Punk,” John grumbles affectionately, clapping his hand to Dean’s shoulder. Dean feels his heart jump, but John just disappears into the bathroom.

Dean’s at the sink shaving when his dad gets out of the shower. It suddenly gets a lot harder to concentrate because he can see John’s reflection in the mirror as he’s getting dressed – his movements quick and perfunctory. There’s still something about the line of his back and his ass, though, that leaves Dean with too much spit in his mouth and scared of the noise it’ll make when he swallows.

He sees his own eyes widen and his cheeks go pale as John comes up behind him. “You wanna stop hogging the mirror, Miss America?” John teases, reaching around Dean to get something out of his travel kit.

Without really hearing his dad’s words, Dean turns around. Maybe it’s all the heat from the shower, maybe it’s the long day they’ve had or maybe it’s that Dean hasn’t had enough time to forget what it’s like to be with a man, or how bad he sometimes needs it, but his dad’s proximity is completely, horribly overwhelming. He sways forward unconsciously, lips almost at John’s throat. Time seems molasses-slow as John raises a hand to touch Dean’s jaw.

“Nicked yourself there,” he says, a strange note in his voice.

“Oh,” Dean says dumbly.

John moves then, putting enough distance between them that Dean can breathe again. “Think I’m just gonna hit the sack,” he calls over his shoulder. “We’ll go get some food when I’m up.”

It finally sinks in that there’s only one room and one bed. Dean guesses his dad wasn’t expecting to have to call him down to give him a hand. It’s not like he wouldn’t be willing to go wrangle up a second room, but if his dad isn’t going to say anything then he’s definitely not going to complain. He wonders if it has something to do with John needing to keep an eye on him, make sure Dean isn’t going to leave like Sam did, but decides not to think about it.

His dad’s already snoring softly when Dean crawls onto the other side of the mattress. It’s like torture, listening to John breathe, wanting so bad to curl around him. Thankfully, Dean is so beat that he only has to endure it for a little while before he’s out like a light.

When he wakes up, the sun is already starting to sink in the sky. The room smells heavily of greasy diner food and Dean blinks blearily until he sees his dad sitting at the tiny table, paging through a newspaper.

“Eat,” he says, pointing at a crumpled white paper bag. Dean drags himself out of bed and opens it to find a chicken club sandwich and a cup of chili, still pretty warm even.

“Find a new case?” Dean asks as he starts in on the food, nodding his head towards the spread open paper. John grunts noncommittally.

Dean’s internal clock feels all out of whack and he thinks he might explode if he stays in this cramped room with his dad so close and always out of reach. He finishes his meal and gets dressed and keeps glancing over to his dad whose concentration never seems to break, not even once.

“I’m going out,” Dean announces. John finally looks up at him, his expression a little perturbed. “You know, blow off some steam.” Normally, after a successful job John and Dean go for a drink together, maybe hustle some pool players out of a little cash, and then maybe Dean goes off with some sweet young thing, but it’s never like this – Dean sweating and trying to ditch his dad for a night on the town alone.

His dad stares at him, almost blank, but Dean catches a whiff of disapproval. It’s enough to give him pause, but Dean feels need and frustration like an itch under his skin and he’s got to do something about it if he’s going to be any help to his dad when they’re back on the hunt.

John doesn’t say anything to stop Dean, though, so Dean grabs his jacket and the keys to the Impala and heads out with a promise to be back soon so the two of them can hit the road again.

He gets on the highway going out of town and follows the road signs to a nearby airport. He’s got every intention of finding a girl when he goes into a bar that’s all lame colored lighting and business men killing time before flights, but there’s someone just perfect slumped over his beer at the bar.

It’s east Texas; Dean knows he’s in danger of getting a punch to the face, but the guy’s drunk, bored, lonely maybe, and he doesn’t say no to a blowjob in the men’s room. They squeeze into one of the stalls and this is a new first for Dean. The guy doesn’t seem to have any complaints about his technique, though he’s a little rough in thrusting into Dean’s mouth. Dean knows he’s going to be jerking off to this for weeks, even if it’s a little uncomfortable in the present, imagining it’s his dad’s hands mussing up his hair, his dad’s cock heavy on his tongue.

The guy finishes and Dean spits into the toilet bowl. He’s not really expecting anything in return so it’s not a surprise when the guy hurriedly rinses his hands in the sink and then leaves. Dean stays sitting on the floor and dimly hears the guy saying ‘excuse me’ to someone as he goes out the door. There’s the sound of footsteps on the tile and Dean just has time to think about moving before the stall door swings open and his dad is towering over him.

His dad’s really there and Dean can’t bring himself to ask how long he’s been there, what all he saw or heard. All that matters is that his dad has found him and he helps Dean to his feet and brushes dirt off of Dean’s leather jacket and then touches a curious thumb to Dean’s mouth. Dean purses his lips against it in a nervous kiss and knows John is coming to some sort of decision

“How long has this been going on?” John asks, his voice low and serious.

Dean actually thinks about lying, or pleading the Fifth, but behavior’s too well-ingrained and the truth comes coughing out of his mouth. “Three years, but-”

His dad cuts him off with a curt shake of his head, but there’s still no mistaking the relief in his expression. John wipes his hands over his face and inhales deeply. “Only between jobs,” he finally says, slow and reluctant

Dean says, “Yes, Sir,” because he knows when he’s being offered a deal.

*

Months later, they’re in California. Dean knows John took this job so he could swing by and check on Sam. It puts his dad in a weird mood – even more prickly and taciturn than usual. The job is finished and John is keeping an ear to the ground for the next one, but in the mean time there’s not much to do.

Dean hasn’t picked up any men, not since his dad found out about his extracurricular activities. It’s not that he doesn’t want to – it’s just that he respects the terms of their treaty and they’ve been constantly working. Plus, even if it was never spelled out, Dean instinctively knows that when the time is right, John will somehow give his permission.

He’s bored, though, and he wonders how his dad would respond if he suggested sneaking into a movie or something. As if reading his thoughts, John suddenly says, “feel like going out?”. There’s something weird about his tone, like John is actually nervous or something crazy like that, and Dean can tell he doesn’t mean anything as wholesome as going to a movie.

They take the truck and Dean doesn’t ask where they’re headed, just fiddles with the radio dial until John tells him to cut it out. His heart is hammering in his chest, adrenaline pumping through his veins, because this is weird, because Dean can tell this is going to change things, whatever his dad has planned.

John takes him to the kind of establishment that Dean’s searched out for himself in the past and sits them both down at the bar, their knees pressed together. It’s completely surreal, but Dean’s not surprised, not exactly – his dad has always been overprotective. John orders a beer while Dean scans the crowd. “Well?” he asks when he’s about half-way through his drink.

“What about that one?” Dean asks, inclining his head towards a man in a cowboy hat putting money in the jukebox.

John shakes his head no. “Too old,” he says with a mirthless smile

Dean finds another possibility and John follows his gaze. The guy is younger, but has about the same build as John. Dean watches as his dad’s jaw clenches, his fingers tightening around the neck of his beer bottle, a ripple of something that Dean can barely follow before he gets himself back in check and nods.

John brushes his lips against Dean’s chastely before he goes, like a blessing and a promise Dean won’t be alone on this. It feels like a test, sort of, like Dean will be letting his dad down if he can’t pull this guy. Luckily for Dean, he’s a near stranger to rejection, and tonight is no different.

Dean sticks with a routine he knows works and sucks the man off in the bathroom. He can’t help gagging some at the discomfort of it, the sour taste, but it’s worth it because when he walks out his cheeks will be flushed and his skin will be sweaty and his lips will be red and it’ll be obvious what he’s been up to, but it won’t matter if everyone else at the bar sees, thinks him a whore, because his dad will look at him, really look at him. John will be there to pat him on the back and tell him he did well and Dean will feel something like satisfaction.

*

The last time it happens, they’re in Georgia, feeling sluggish and not thinking straight in the sweltering heat and humidity. Dean had waited and waited for his dad to offer him another outing and it had taken forever, but something must have finally tipped John off that Dean needed it.

Savannah isn’t a huge city, but it’s big enough to find what they need. He’s jittery with nerves, but his dad is there, as steady as always. It’s just like another hunt, Dean tells himself, his dad will have his back, but Dean’s going to have to pull his weight too.

They find a place and order a couple of drinks. John sips his slowly while Dean just downs the thing. They spend a while surveying the bar. It’s pretty slim pickings. Dean notices John considering some young, tall guy and no, just no, that’s too much for Dean. He won’t be able to resist, though, not if his dad insists so, quick and panicked, he finds the usual – strong and older and grizzled.

“Him,” Dean says, his voice pleading.

John looks at him searchingly for a long moment, and then accedes with a nod.

It’s Dean’s fault what happens. He knows it is, for being too rash and for not just listening to his dad.

The guy seems amenable to Dean’s proposition, but he doesn’t want to go the restroom, but outside behind the bar instead. Dean doesn’t think much of it; maybe the guy’s a little shy. As it turns out, though, once he’s got Dean up against the wall and half-undressed, there’s nothing shy about him.

Dean sees the guy pull out a knife out of the corner of his eye. “Such a pretty boy,” the man murmurs into Dean’s ear, with the blade at Dean’s belly, “but I know what would make you even prettier.”

It’s not scary, not really; Dean knows at least a hundred ways to take a man down, but he still shivers and doesn’t quite breathe. He feels sick, disgusted with himself because his erection doesn’t flag. This guy looks, sounds more like John than any other so far and it’s dangerous, devastating in the way he imagines actually fucking his dad would be.

He feels just the tiniest prick of the knife’s point and then John’s there, just like Dean never doubted for a second he would be, hauling the guy off of Dean and then Dean hears the sound of a wrist breaking and his dad growling threats and the guy beating a hasty retreat.

For a blissful moment, John seizes Dean in a fierce hug, solid and comforting, and then he pulls back and takes careful stock of Dean, rubbing his chest and touching his side. “You’re okay,” John finally pronounces, and if his dad says it, it must be true.

John still has an arm around Dean when he starts to lead him out of the alley and Dean knows with complete certainty that he could end the game now and that it could go either way – he could tilt his head up and kiss his father’s mouth and there’s no way John would refuse him, not like this, not after how wrong things could have gone. Or he could call it off, but Dean’s already lost his brother and he knows bone-deep and true that he’d do anything to keep the tattered remains of his family together.

John cups the back of Dean’s head and rubs his thumb along his hairline. Dean spits and clears his throat. “Next time,” he says when he finds his voice, “we’ll be more careful.”

John’s movements pause, and then he breathes out slowly. “Next time,” he says flatly, his expression inscrutable, but, really, it’s a moot point anyway.

How it ends is Dean continues on to Louisiana. His dad doesn’t.


End file.
